


REDEMPTION

by pandainpanties



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell, I know there's fics for this already but everybody has their own interpretation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, aaa i got bored, decided to give this a shot?, im so fukn nervous aahahahaa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-05 04:45:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5361902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandainpanties/pseuds/pandainpanties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Anybody could end your life down here.” The flower continues. “Never underestimate size,” It whispers. </p><p>“After all…”</p><p>The flower smiles, strained enough where the pollen flakes off from being torn from their place. A shadow covers its face, eyes wide with a hint of fearful insanity shining deep inside of them. </p><p>“It's KILL or BE KILLED.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [576p](https://archiveofourown.org/users/576p/gifts).



> Aaahh, thanks for checking this out! This is my first chaptered fic so updates might be a bit delayed because of school and whatnot. I don't want to stall this for too long, so I'm going to drop a few points right here. 
> 
> Firstly, I'm using a timeline for this, so some dialogue or scenes may seem familiar if you use tumblr and reblog undertale art. I'm avoiding directly copying the dialogue, but this is heavily inspired! Though some parts will be from pure imagination.
> 
> Secondly, the reader will be as vague as humanly possible. I'm very tired of readers saying they will be gender neutral and then hinting at things only a certain gender would wear or have. Flowey is gender neutral too, for now. (You know why? Bc they're a goddamn flower.) 
> 
> Along with the gender neutral reader, there will be no dialogue from them as well. I'm leaving it like because I have no idea what you would really say? You get to decide. That's the point of a reader-insert, you /insert/ yourself. Don't take this the wrong way, I'm not shitting on reader-inserts, in fact, I love them a lot and there are many good ones out there. It's just something that bothers me and so I'm leaving it out of my own writing.
> 
> I may have had other things to rant about, but I can't think of anything else. Anywho, enjoy! Feel free to drop a comment [(seriously, writers are attention whores, we literally need comments to know we're doing something right).](http://colubrina.tumblr.com/post/127827002375/writers-are-attention-whores-like-please-just)
> 
> Special thanks to my [beta](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Solovei)  
> Special thanks to [my no. 1 fan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/melonalenas)  
> Special thanks to [✗](http://humunanunga.tumblr.com/)

It is bright. Too bright. Your eyes squint as streams of light blind you. Your head is pounding, on the verge of a threatening headache. There's a slight ringing in your ears, the back of your head feels itchy where your hair has scattered unnaturally, and everything feels fuzzy.

The light dims and your eyes open hesitantly. There's a hole in the sky, or rather, you have dropped down this hole. You wiggle your fingers, something soft and wax-like caressing the pads. You sit up, back cracking as you stretch. It hurts but is relieving. Yellow flowers surround you, the smell delicate and pleasant.

You stand up fully and abandon the flower patch. There's a corridor, and seeing how it seems to be the only exit (you don't see yourself climbing back up the hole) you decide to follow it.

Through the door, there is a spacious, empty room. You cannot see the ceiling but an inexplicable light shines down to the ground. A lone flower sits in the makeshift limelight. You hesitantly take a step forward.

The flower whips around, petals shaking from the force of the turn.

“ _ **Who's there? Show yourself.**_ ”

Its face is menacing, the voice resonating around the room, deep and gravelly. Its eyes are slanted, mouth fanged with its own texture.

Through your fear, you don't register the concerned whimper that escapes from your throat.

The flower freezes at your responsive body language, its features faltering. It takes you in, staring into your eyes.

“You… Are you… A human?”

You look down at your body, shoes and legs. You wiggle your fingers and pat your stomach. This is you being a smartass.

You nod to the flower. It immediately looks distressed, eyes wide, the white dots in its eyes shrinking.

“Oh no.” It starts shaking its… Head? Its petals dance back and forth. “Ohh nononononono..”

The flower looks back up at you. It gives you a look filled with pity and dreadful fear.

“Listen. I've been here long enough to know that…” The flowers eyes dart away to the door on the other side of the cavernous room. “ _She_ will come soon.” The flower starts to really panic, bouncing in place anxiously.

“We've got to hide you. _Now!_ ” The flower turns rapidly in place, searching for a crevice or cave for you to hide in. It finds none and a heavy silence hangs over the two of you.

_There is no place to hide._

A small sigh escapes you. It's in sync with the one the flower emits.

You offer the flower some modest reassurance, explaining how the situation couldn't that bad.

“She would kill you in an instant.”

_Oh._

You squint your eyes in thought, a tinge of remorse settling in your chest. You've been alive this long, dropped down a hole in a mountain, and met a talking flower which, for reasons you didn't know, didn't seem to affect you.

You were going to die before you got to see more of this intriguing world that was, quite literally, living right under your nose the whole time.

Before you can really delve too deeply in your thoughts, the flower starts talking.

“Hey, I'm… I'm sorry for scaring you earlier.” Its eyes dart to stare down at the grassy patch it's attached to. “I thought you were a Monster, so I put on a menacing face.” The flower shrinks in on itself somehow, stem bending inwards. “It usually tricks others into thinking I'm strong. Like them.”

“Anybody could end your life down here.” The flower continues. “Never underestimate size,” It whispers.

“After all…”

The flower smiles, strained enough where the pollen flakes off from being torn from their place. A shadow covers its face, eyes wide with a hint of fearful insanity shining deep inside of them.

“ **It's KILL or BE KILLED.** ”

The flower looks down again, a wistful look on its face. It looks pained.

“And I _hate it._ ”  It hisses painfully.

“But uh.. Sorry about that.” Its expression is sheepish now.

You stay silent. You understand the reason behind the flowers actions. There have been many times you have had to fake yourself to fit in. You nod at the flower, stating your apprehension.

The flower cheers up instantly, oddly enough.

“Wowie! Thank you!” It's stem wiggles slightly. You just now notice its petals are withered at the ends. “It's so nice to finally have a friend down here!”

You do not remember agreeing to this proposition but you follow along anyways.

To be polite, you ask the flower if it has a name. If you're going to die so soon, why not have a kind name in mind?

“A name.. Huh..” The flower looks down in thought. You think it shouldn't take this long to present your name. Subsequently you assume that all the monsters down here are pure evil by nature, and, therefore, have never asked the small flower its name.

“Flowey.” It says. It smiles and it's petals look more sunshine yellow rather than a sad mustard yellow. “Flowey the Flower!”

You tell Flowey your opinion about their name. Flowey asks what your name is. You tell them and something flickers in their dark eyes. Its gone as quickly as it appears.

There's a coldness in the cavern as silence settles over you two again. You look around before looking back down at Flowey. You ask if they're _positive_ there isn't anywhere to hide.

Flowey looks around too as if the both of you expected the room to have somehow changed in the few minutes you were talking. Your eyes flicker to the door behind Flowey. Flowey notices and asserts your thoughts.

“There are other Monsters behind that door. They won't hesitate to kill you on the spot.”

Your shoulders slump at the news. Flowey starts to sweat (you choose not to audibly question this) and starts stuttering.

“S-Sorry! I mean…! They aren't that strong.” Flowey bends forward, stem straining. “The only exit is through that door. But that's where.. Yeah.” Flowey gives an apologetic smile. “There isn't much of a chance..” Their face falls.

“Unless..”

You look up at Flowey, the slightest bit of hope stirring something inside of you. Flowey is staring at the door.

“Yes!”

The outburst slightly startles you.

“Quick! Get in that corner!"

You don't see how the corner will help. It's as equally dark as the three opposing corners. You wonder if monsters have a wide field of vision as humans do.

You play along with Flowey’s instructions anyways.

Near the wall, the smell of dank musty rocks is more apparent. You press your back against the wall. The rocks jut into your shoulder blades painfully but you're in no position to complain.

You turn your attention towards the middle of the room and are alarmed to see Flowey has disappeared. A small noise escapes you as Flowey uproots from the ground in front of you.

“We need to stay still and be quiet.” The flower whispers. “Sorry for scaring you again.” They say in an even softer voice.

You are about to tell Flowey it is okay when the sound of distant footsteps catches your words in your throat. You press yourself tighter against the wall, the stones in your shoulders a mere pinch under the alarm pulsing through your nerves.

A clawed paw rests in the entry. The pads of its steps are rather gentle for the mass of the creature. There's white fur covering the visible body parts, namely the head, hands, and feet. The hands (paws, you guess) look dirty, grey and matted with what looks like dust. Sharp horns and a long, thick looking tunic, torn at the bottom, reminding you of an old witch’s dress.

You realise you're holding your breath and you're overcome with the stinging inside of your lungs, chest constricted painfully. You and Flowey stare quietly as the beast makes their way across the room, claws making a sharp sound as their feet are lifted off the rock floor. They disappear in the door you came from.

A pause of silence.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

Another.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

You exhale slowly. Your heart is hurting, beating violently against your ribs. You place a hand over your left breast, as if you could manually slow down the rapid beats.

A puff of air catches you off guard and you look down to see that Flowey has also exhaled. This is something else you want to question but you decide to go for the obvious better question.

You ask Flowey who - or _what_ \- that was.

Flowey doesn't look at you. Their eyes are trained on the dark entry way where the beast disappeared. Flowey appears to be mildly shaking.

“That…” The flower starts. “That was…”

Flowey swallows and gives you an unsteady grin, nervous energy radiating off of their tiny being.

“ _ **That’s** **Toriel.**_ ”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to do my own take on this part. 
> 
> Not sure when my next update will be up, so happy holidays everybody! 
> 
> Also not sure if I linked my tumbles or not but [here you go](http://pandainpanties.tumblr.com/) (music warning but I don't think the auto play works lmao). Send me a message or ask if you have any questions or just wanna chat
> 
> Chapter posted: 12/15/15  
> Special thanks to [[beta]](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Solovei)  
> Additional: extreme allergy warning

A tense silence fills the room, ears straining until you were sure you were just imagining the distant footsteps.

“A-Alright! We need to move! Hurry!” Flowey whispers harshly before disappearing into the dirt, lumps of rock ejecting from the ground.

You took off in the door Toriel had exited, the flower popping in and out of the ground, noticeably getting slower as you took more steps. As you reach the end of the corridor, you skidded to a halt, a closed door in front of you.  The walls were violet, virescent vines plaguing the walls and giving the room an earthy but claustrophobic feel. Flowey stopped at the entrance, unable to penetrate the solid but cracked concrete of the catacombs. You made your way towards the panting flower, not sure what to do with them.

“Pl...Please doh...don’t leave me here.” Flowey wheezes out, visible sweat falling off their petals. Your eyebrows furrow in thought. You stare at the flower intently, the small bud visibly withering under your gaze.

“Eh...heh?”

Flowey made a loud protestant yell as you leaned down and started digging the dirt around them. Flowey starts shaking their poor little head, on the verge of crying.

“Please! No _nonono!_ Please don’t kill me PLEASE!”

You dug your fingers deep into the dirt, damp soil fitting snugly under your fingernails. You wiggled and clawed your way through the dirt until you didn’t feel anymore of Flowey’s stems, and you uprooted him, soil and all. You lifted your leg and flicked your ankle, your boot flying off and landing on its side. You made a mildly irritated huff and set the boot upright with a socked foot and planted the still crying flower inside of it.  You rocked back until your butt hit the floor, waiting for Flowey to come to realisation.

It took only about ten seconds for them to calm down, staring down confusedly at the shoe and then at your socked foot. You gave Flowey a patient smile. They seem relieved.

“O-oh.. I thought.. Haha..” You wave your hand in dismissal, guaranteeing it was okay. You stand, picking up the boot equipped with a golden flower and turned to face the door. You start to walk when the height difference of your feet annoyed you, and you kick off the other shoe. Your feet would be fine. Maybe.

You look to Flowey for assistance, scrutinising the gray blocks on the right hand side of the room. Flowey tells you the order. You step on them and pull the switch. Simple enough.

You pass through the door and are met with a room with distant switches on the wall. Flowey tells you to flip the first and second one. You stop to cup your hands in one of the streams of water, dropping the fresh liquid into the boot holding Flowey. They seem thankful and relieved. You briefly make a comparison how Flowey is similar to you, needing water and oxygen to survive. You ask Flowey if the water is safe to drink. Flowey says it might be but they wouldn’t risk the chance, you being a human.

The switches lower some spikes at the doorway. The spikes are short enough to step over, but you play along anyways.

You are not prepared to meet a dummy, it’s presence startles you. In turn, you laugh at yourself. That was silly, you think as you rest a hand over your chest, heart pulsing with extra adrenaline. Flowey says this would be good fighting practice. You shake your head, stating that there are other ways to solve conflict. Flowey heavily disagrees. This argument continues to the next room.

Flowey is still trying to convince you to fight or, at least, take action if you run into an enemy. This happens when a Froggit appears. You think it looks cute, like any frog would, and you inform the Froggit of this. It doesn’t seem to know what you said, but it looks visibly less aggressive. It hops away when Flowey tells it to scram.

There is a spiked bridge. Your eyes widened momentarily before remembering the hint that was plastered on the wall behind you. You wonder why monsters are so interested in making puzzles, and since they are, why are they so simple?

The next room is unbearably long. It is so, so long. Goodness gracious, is it long. It was long enough you made some idle chat with Flowey. It turns out they are a natural crybaby. You’re not sure what to think of this.

The Long Room™ finally ends with a very inconspicuous collum. You point this out to Flowey. They do not seem to appreciate your sarcasm. You go through yet another entry way and the piles of red leaves catch your attention. They are vibrant and they give you a nice tingling feeling when you step around in them. They are soft and do not crunch like they would in the fall. This disheartens you a bit (since crunching leaves are one of your aesthetics).

There seems to be a glowing orb, yellow and sparkly looking. You touch it and you feel grounded, like gravity is tugging you deeper towards the center of the Earth. You feel relieved and eager, tired and excited, resolute and equivocal.  You blink, and it’s as if your eyes have taken a camera shot of this room, this exact moment in time. You huff and shake your head, feeling dizzy. It clears quickly and you’re concerned by how normal you feel. You’re about to ask Flowey what happened, what godly sensation you just went through, but the flower seems eager to leave this spot. In fact, Flowey seemed to ignore you during the event. You shrug it off and move on, holding your boot in your arms.

You look to your left and decide to check out the room before moving forward, feeling relaxed at the peacefulness that engulfs you. The room’s atmosphere is gentle but you distrust the bowl of candy sitting in the middle of the room. You feel like it’s a prank, possibly one of those candy bowls with the hand that grabs your own when you reach in. You puff out your chest and meekly grab one of the candies. Nothing happens. You grab another one. Suddenly, you feel as if someone or something is judging you, demeaning your worth as you stuff the candy in your pocket. You decide to leave the room.

After this hallway there is a puzzle. And another. And another. And some more. Countless times you solve puzzles, falling on your butt here and there when you give the boot in your arms a light toss, mildly scolding Flowey for telling you all the solutions. Puzzles are puzzles for a reason.

There are countless enemies that cross your path as well. There are Froggits, which you repeatedly compliment until you’re sure you have the entirety of the Froggit species blushing. Pieces of what looks like gelatin cross your path and you’re not sure how these could be evil. You do not have to talk to them, since they do not do anything, but you decide to ‘talk’ to them anyways. You wiggle your hips repeatedly, _Shakira, Shakira,_ and have endless collections of meaningful conversations!

Flowey seems to be off put by your method. They think this is going by too easily, you are passing these Monsters without effort. Flowey knows that not every Monster in the underground will be this easy, this willing to just step aside. They wonder how you dismiss them so readily, you know what to say or what to do at the right times like you know exactly what you’re doing.

Like you’ve done this before.

You are in the middle of stepping on a vibrantly coloured switch when Flowey is startled by their thoughts, this realisation. You give Flowey a look, silently asking if they’re alright. Flowey is about to disregard your question and say that they are, in fact, fine but something stops them. You exit the room, paying no attention to your surroundings as you worry about your small flower friend. Flowey makes a minute whining sound and you look up to see what has them distressed.

Immediately you stop in your tracks. A large tree looms above the both of you, black as death and barren of any life. Red leaves are piled around it, the same type of leaves that are scattered in the Ruins. Hesitantly, you take a step forward, and lightly place your socked toes on a leaf.

The leaf cracks.

Flowey wishes they were not here right now. They wish this wasn’t the only way out of the Ruins. They almost wish you didn’t fall down into this hellhole that these Monsters called _home_.

A heavy feeling weighing in your chest as you come closer to the house that sits behind the barren tree. It’s made of the same material as the rest of the Ruins, a dank violet brick, riddled with tough, thick vines that are partly wilted. The walls are cracked, windows barred with iron bars, dented and twisted as if something tried to escape desperately through them but failed. A large iron door is the only entryway and you blindly go to knock at it, Flowey visibly on the verge of having a panic attack. The sounds of your knocks resonate through the door, the echo overwhelmingly loud in the ringing silence that surrounds you.

You wait a few moments for something to happen.

 

.

.

.

 

Nothing.

 

.

.

.

 

Your fingers anxiously tap on the boot, making Flowey jump.

 

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

Flowey sighs in what you think is relief.

“M-maybe she isn’t home…”

You do not see how this is helpful. If the door is locked (you assume it’s locked, you haven’t tried and you won’t try) you cannot get through the house, and therefore, cannot escape. You explain this to Flowey.

You sigh and turn around. You are not expecting to bump into a towering, dark figure. A small scream escapes your mouth and you press the boot to your chest, Flowey’s petals brushing your chin as they cower.

The large figure gives a giggle, the noise sounds too sweet, sickly sweet. You shiver and feel bile churn in your stomach.

“ _Child,_ ” the figure starts, voice slowly cutting through you, a smooth knife with bumpy edges. “How terrible for such an innocent youth to wander through these unforgiving catacombs.”

Her voice smothers you like thick honey, choking you with too much sweetness that you want it to stop. She had licked her lips at the word innocent.

“Come in, little one. I have just finished gathering the ingredients for my special homemade pie!” She says enthusiastically, pushing you a bit aggressively into her house with her paw.

You are sure you do not want anything this lady monster makes.

She tells you to take a seat at the dining table sat in the living room. You turn your head ninety degrees, peeking over at her until your eyes strain and your neck cramps. You fail to catch any facial details just yet, but the fire is now burning. It is not cold in the house, oddly enough. You feel hot, like your skin may melt off the bone.

“Don’t move, darling,” she calls from somewhere behind you, seemingly from the right. “You wouldn’t want to miss out on my special homemade pie, would you?” Toriel says this in such a way where you think you would feel bad if you _did_ leave.

When Toriel disappears into the kitchen you sit quietly in the wooden chair, Flowey in your lap. The flower is incredibly nervous not just for you but for their own life as well. They know Toriel’s ingredients are all too _natural_.

You hear humming noises from the kitchen. You  turn around in your chair slowly, careful as to not let the chair make any noises, any indication that might make Toriel think you are leaving. The fireplace behind you in enormous, the fire is dangerously close to the large cushioned chair beside it. The chair looks worn and faded but rather from its age and usage. The floors and walls are all pristine clean and are coloured a warm tan hue. A large bookshelf sits to the right of the fireplace, filled with various books of which titles you cannot read from this far away. The house…. surprisingly feels cozy. Without Toriel’s unstable presence hovering over you, you would consider to call this place… home.

Just as the thought hits you, Toriel glides out of the kitchen, a metal pan in her hands. She sets it down and you’re mildly surprised to see the pie looks delectable. Flowey is still uneasy.

The pie is unusually large. It’s twice as big as your head, believe it or not. You think just one slice would suffice for a full meal.

Toriel sets to work cutting you a slice, gingerly scraping it on onto the china she set in front of you. The colour looks to be of a normal pie, dusty orange in colour. Possibly pumpkin pie? You have not seen any pumpkins though.

You decisively take a bite when you catch Toriel staring you down, waiting with an almost impatient look on her face. You notice Flowey staring at you also, face indescribable. You swallow it and give a hum of approval, Toriel’s fluffy cheeks rising in response.

“Wonderful, my child! I am so glad you like it.” Her eyes soften momentarily before she looks down to take a bite from her own slice.

You continue eating the pie and even give Flowey a piece. You take the fork and cut a very small piece and hold it in front of Flowey. Flowey looks like they’re about to cry but eats it anyway. They are surprised as well.

Everything seems calm in this moment. You nearly forget that this world, this secluded dystopia hidden right under your nose is built on pure blood thirst for humans. You nearly forgot the endless amounts of puzzles littered in the Ruins, the countless monsters you seduced with kindness, the way Toriel looked at you with her red eyes with yellow sclerae. You nearly forgot the reasoning of falling down this hole, nearly forgot what had happened to drag you into this special type of hell.

Nearly.

The fork slows halfway into cutting the crust of the pie, your arm heavily leaning on the table. Breathing suddenly feels harder, greater in task than it used to be. Your fingers are shaking slightly on the fork. Toriel gives you a look. You force yourself to cut the piece of crust, determined not to disappoint this woman.

The pie pushes against your lips. You can’t seem to open your mouth. Every part of your body feels heavy and warm. You blink and the room spins. You’re sure that if you swallow this pie, you will vomit it all back up. Your breast rises and falls rapidly. You are sure that your veins are on fire.

You quickly shove the small piece of pie in your mouth. It rests on your tongue and you feel like crying. You try to swallow, force it down at the same time something tries to come up. You cough, and the pie splatters onto your plate, a gooey dusty orange lump. The sight of it is revolting and you turn your head towards the floor, panting heavily. You can hear Toriel’s voice. She sounds angry.

“You little brat! How dare you, fooling me into thinking you enjoyed my cooking just to spit it out at me like that!” She spits angrily. You do not have enough energy to explain this is not what is happening.

You shakily ask Toriel what’s in the pie. She ignores you. You ask her again, more firmly. She angrily tells you that it’s butterscotch and cinnamon. Your world stops. The room spins and halts at the same time. There’s a distinct redness to your skin, blotchy and warm. You nearly forgot.

You are allergic to cinnamon.

Your hand slams on the table, weakly or firmly you cannot tell. Flowey is crying and Toriel is threatening to “put the little weed” in her next pie.

You cough, hard, and spit decorates the wooden table. You tell Toriel about your allergy. You explain around coughs and fading colours how severe it is. She panics and grabs you.

“My dear child! I’m so sorry! I did not know!”

The room is too dark now to assure her. There’s a tightness in your throat, like a noose around your neck that won’t seal the deal.

There’s a sudden hardness under you, and it bumps your shoulder blades painfully. Your body is flat on the ground, and you don’t actually know if this is the ground. You could be on the roof, in a coffin, in Hell.

Though from what Flowey has told you, are are already there. 

You would laugh if you could. Maybe this is actually Hell. Your body is burning and itchy. Your nails drag against the floor, and by how your skin peels off, you guess you did actually land on the floor.

Toriel’s voice still hovers above you. She looks incredibly remorseful. You feel something land on your face.

You realise she is crying.

“Please! Not again… Not another child…“

You briefly wonder what this means but the thought fades away as everything turns black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who adds unnecessary angst to everything? This person right here B)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this didn't take forever. I got caught up with holidays, schoolwork, and funeral plans. So, this took way longer than expected to come out lmao. 
> 
> Also, if you're interested (and qualified), I need a new beta for this fic. My current one isn't into Undertale so having her correct it can be a pain ;-; (for both of us). Go ahead and comment or leave me a message on [tumblr](http://pandainpanties.tumblr.com/) if you're interested! 
> 
> Sure hope I characterised Toriel all right. Also hoping the ending isn't too cheesy...

It is still dark when you wake up. Momentarily, you think you are dead, but the thought quickly subsides because logic tells you that the afterlife probably wouldn’t have a wooden roof. Your body shifts and you’re startled to feel a thick mass covering your body. It’s warm and it takes a fair amount of effort to lug the heavy quilt off of you. You wiggle your fingers and are met with a smooth texture under the pads. The sheets are plush and made from fancy cotton. Amazingly, though, you feel all right. There’s a dull aching pain in your body, an all over drum that beats to the rhythm your heart. You take a deep breath and cough. Your throat is too dry to properly inhale.

Suddenly, a light turns on. The room is bathed in a warm light and you notice that vines are twirled around the pole of the lamp. A dull scraping noise claws at your ears as a golden flower pops into view. Flowey struggles to lift themself onto the bed you’ve been set on. You watch the flower for a minute before grabbing the boot and setting it on the edge of the bed.

“We have to get out of here.”

You’re taken aback by the pure urge in Flowey’s voice. They seem impatient, stem bending unnaturally as Flowey keeps turning to look at the closed bedroom door.

“We don’t have time to lose. Toriel left a while ago, mumbling about getting ingredients or something.” Flowey’s face floods with concern. “We have to leave while we have the chance.”

You absentmindedly groom Flowey’s petals while they wriggle in the boot. The petals are silken soft, wilting edges and sporadic holes decorate them. This seems to calm and confuse Flowey.

You would like to agree with Flowey about leaving but there’s something in your subconscious willing you to stay. The atmosphere of the house is overall cozy and somehow Toriel saved you from dying of anaphylactic shock. You had only had cinnamon once in your previous life, your life before the Underground, and it had nearly caused you death. You spent nearly a week in the hospital, healing and afterwards getting tested for any other substances that could be overly harmful.

Flowey makes a noise as you stand up from the bed, the coldness of the house suddenly hitting you as you leave its warmth. You wobble on your legs before crashing down to the ground, a violent cough erupting deep from your chest. Immediately, you ask Flowey how long you were out for. They say they don’t know since there are no clocks in Toriel’s house. You sigh as your fists automatically clench in irritation. Forcefully, you unfold your hands and wiggle your fingers to calm yourself down, to distract yourself.

You work on standing up again, grabbing at the edge of the bed. You stretch and pop whatever bones you can to relieve your tense muscles. Deep breaths. Your throat feels particularly dry and you start to leave the room. Flowey calls after you. You refrain from rolling your eyes and turn to pick up the boot holding the talking buttercup.

With Flowey in your hands, you peek out down the long hallway into the living room. It is quiet. The air itself seems frozen in place. Your lungs feel stale as you hold your breath. You step out of the room and make your way to the kitchen.

The living room dining area combination has been cleaned of whatever mess you may have left behind. You almost feel bad. Toriel seemed at peace when you were enjoying her pie. There was no way she could have known you would have an allergy to the ingredients.

The kitchen is warm and you soon realise why. The pie is levitating partially over the stove. A small flame is burning under it. enough to keep it warm but not enough to burn the half eaten pie.

You walk over to the fridge and something catches your eye. It’s the trash can. You peer inside of it.

The bottle of cinnamon has been thrown away.

Something flutters in your chest. You feel grateful.

Though not grateful enough to forget your parched throat.

You turn back to the fridge and open it with Flowey’s help. The door was much too large and heavy for you to pull yourself.

The inside of the fridge is nearly barren. Only one item sits there.

A name brand white chocolate bar.

Disinterested in the candy, you close the fridge. You notice a cup sitting inside the sink. There is no visible soap or sponge to clean it with. You roll up your sleeves and turn the tap on, using your hands to rinse it out best you could.

You fill the glass up halfway and hover it over your mouth, not completely trusting the cleaning work you just did with water only. The water is room temperature, just cold enough to ease the scratchy pain in your throat. You set the glass back in the sink before wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Flowey seems stressed. They keep wriggling in the boot, their petals look to be withering by the second. You reach out and stroke the petals again, gently. Flowey sighs and gives you a look you can’t place. You gingerly pick up the boot and make your way out of the kitchen.

The stairs had been your first destination. Go down the stairs and find the exit to the Ruins. To escape and do whatever was needed to leave this place. Follow what Flowey has been saying.

But you don’t feel ready for that yet.

Your ulterior motives become apparent as you walk right past the stairs. Flowey lets out a loud noise in exasperation, their voice more pitched than usual. Your eyebrows scrunch just as hard as your nose does. You stop in front of the bedroom you came in and open the door. You set Flowey down on the floor, and leave the room and close the door. Flowey needs a time-out.

Blatantly ignoring Flowey’s irritated yet panicked cries, you set out to find what you could in this house. Maybe something to help you get to know Toriel better. Or maybe some information on the underground. You had a feeling you’d be stuck here for a while.

The room next to yours seems to be the only other room in the house that’s accessible. The door is ajar, a blue hue visible through the crack. Hesitantly, you open it, half expecting to find Toriel in here.

Thankfully, she isn’t.

You open the door fully, momentarily baffled by how blue the room is. A large bed sits in the upper left corner of the room, a plant sat next to it. A bookshelf and dresser stand tall against the farthest wall. A yellow potted plant sits atop the bookshelf. There’s a slight urge to grab the pot. For Flowey, of course. 

To the left, there is a desk with a chair that looks too small for Toriel to be sitting in. An open notebook sits on the desk. A part of you wants to respect her privacy yet another part tells you to read the scrawled text.

If anybody asks, you elected to _not_ read the passage.

(You read the passage.)

 

_Another child has fallen down into the Ruins again. I am very curious as to where all these children come from. There must be many upset families there, on the surface._

_Inside, I fear meeting the child. It has been quite a while since the last one came in. I have not seen any of them again since they left. I’m afraid he must have taken them away from me. Again. Since they others can no longer help…_

_Perhaps this time, I will not involve myself with the child. I may as well stay away from home for a bit, let them exit the Ruins on their own._

There’s text on the page after that.

_I am afraid to say that this child is very cute. Their nose silently asks to be booped. Their cheeks may as well be asking me to squish them themself!_

_I should distance myself, however. The child has been clearing the Ruins at a remarkable rate. A Whimsum came to me, crying. I have never seen a Whimsum cry before. It told me that the child had tried to console it, calming down its anger. Whimsum ran away before I could even say anything._

_Perhaps this child… Could help me?_

 

You flip the page.

 

_I may have killed the child._

_I did not mean to._

_I let them into my home. I fed them pie. They are the only one to have an allergy to the ingredients._

_I am afraid I have gotten attached to this child too quickly._

_I am so sorry, my child._

 

_I am so sorry._

 

The ink is stained as if small droplets of water fell on the page.

You flip the last page in the notebook.

 

_The child is alive._

_But I must keep them here._

_Otherwise…_

_ASGORE will kill them._

_I am deeply sorry my child. I will not allow myself to lose another one._

 

The room is quiet. No, the house is quiet. Eerily so. Even Flowey’s noises have ceased. You exit the room without second thought.

You open the door to the bedroom. Flowey is sitting there irritably. Flowey looks like they’re going to make a snarky remark but quickly refrains when they catch your expression. Flowey now looks solemn.

You pick up the flower, something comforting about the boot’s solid weight in your arms. You leave the room. The door is left ajar.

You make your way to the stairs, trying hard to ignore the presence of the front door within the corner of your eye.

It is claustrophobic downstairs. The Ruins had been bad enough, but something about this hallway seemed off; as if the air was slowly draining, disappearing into the porous violet walls and never to return. Maybe you would suffocate in this room. That way, your death would be neither Toriel or ASGORE’s fault. Your own blood on your own hands.

The corridor is long, with many unnecessary turns. The more you walk, the more silent the space around you feels. Air seems to escape your body, veins tightening and blood pressure rising. The walls are close and the ceiling high. Your footsteps do not echo.

Flowey is silent, the quietest this flower has ever been. Their petals shake slightly when you take a step. Flowey is not moving. You shake the boot, rather violently in fact, and Flowey makes an irritated noise. Good.

A large door stands in your way. You stare at it for a minute before stepping forwards and resting your hand on one of the handles. It’s made from pure stone, rough and unpolished, the coldness of it biting at the delicate skin of your hand. You sigh before tightening your grip. No sense in hesitating.

You pull on the handle. It dislodges but not much. You tug again. It creaks, scraping loudly against the stone floor. It’s stuck. You pull again. And again. And again.

The door opens.

It swings open, a long purple hallway ahead of you. In the distance, another door stands.

You take a step forward.

Another.

.

 

.

 

.

Another.

.

 

.

 

.

 

You don’t know what you were expecting.

You adjust Flowey in their boot. You sigh heavily. You rub your arm where you cramped a muscle pulling too hard at the door.

The next hallway is long. The air is loose, but still suffocating.

A new purple door stands before you. You crack your hands, setting Flowey down. The stone is cold, still, freezing both of your hands as you place them on each handle. You tug on the door fully, the double doors flinging open.

They slam shut at full force.

Tremors vibrate through your bones up to your skull. Heat surrounds you, mind fuzzing at the sudden change of temperature, blood cold and skin burning.

“My child…”

There are imaginary spiders running up and down your spine, palms clammy and face hot. You turn slowly, fire spreads around you and wisps of icy air breeze in and out of your sweater, chilling your bones where the heat can’t reach.

“I do not remember saying you could leave.”

You swallow thickly. Your eyes water, eyes stinging from lack of blinking. Fingers twitch as your soul leaves your body, gasping for air as the small red soul stands present and vulnerable in front of you. Your jaw clenches. You square your shoulders. Your hands grip for something but nothing is there. The Boss Monster stares at you sternly. You face her, filled with determination.

  
***Toriel blocks the way.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter may or may not be emotional. Sans (and maybe Papyrus) come in!


	4. A/N

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An author's note (yeah I hate these too don't worry).

Hey, you guys. 

Let me start out by saying, no I haven't abandoned this fic. I don't plan to, I'm " _determined_ " to finish it through and through. 

_But_ , because I've been so busy with school and moving, some things have been delayed (not that having a mental illness that leaves you with no energy helps ahhaha). 

Because of this, this will be temporarily on hold as I finish up a majority of the fic. Trying to update a few weeks leaves me feeling unsatisfied, and my beta has a life of her own, too, so it's a bit rough on both parts. 

This will be continued in a while. Chapter four is nearly done and it should be smooth afterwards (I didn't know if I was dragging Toriel out too much or not putting enough in so oops). 

Expect this to be updated soon, is all I'm saying. I'm going to New York next week and god only knows how much I'll be able to get done there. My birthday is in March, so it'll be busy for me but I'll get it done! 

My aim will be to write as far as Waterfall, have my beta look it over, and then post it to a schedule. 

That's all I really had to say, it was bothering me going so long without an update. Hope you guys are doing all right! Thanks ;-;


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